


Built For Sin

by hedaofchaos



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe, Angst, But mostly angst, Dark, Drug Abuse, M/M, a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedaofchaos/pseuds/hedaofchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas, member of the most feared and respected gang in town, has no commitment to anything. He is a typical bad boy; getting drunk, picking fights and of course hooking up with the prettiest boys and girls is his daily routine.<br/>His careless façade crumbles when he meets a certain blonde boy with a not so ordinary profession who changes his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A night out

Thomas woke up from a (in his opinion) well-deserved nap and realized the pain hadn't gone away. His limbs were on fire and his throbbing ankle reminded him of the events that morning.

Why hadn't climbing out of an apartment through the window been part of his P.E. classes? Not that he ever attended school anyway.  _It's their fault though,_ Thomas thought to himself; if they comprehended the meaning of the term  _one- night stand_ , that staying wasn't part of this  _exchange_ , he wouldn't have to sneak out in the middle of the night to avoid pesky questions like  _where are you going_ and _when will we see each other again._

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud buzz, the source being his phone which lay on the bedside table. Picking it up with a groan, Thomas couldn't help but smile as soon as he saw the message displayed.

 

****                                                       5:26 pm

> **Minho**
> 
>  
> 
> Hey shuckface, ready to mess things up? See you at 8

 

 

 

Minho was the leader of the  _Gladers,_ the best-known gang of this town, and he was the one who set the nights in their favourite pub up. Whenever he graced the pub with his presence, the night was bound to be  _epic_ and with the crappy morning he had, Thomas surely could make good use of that.

 

He took a quick shower, put his favourite clothes on - a pair of Levi's jeans, a red v-neck and a leather jacket – drank a couple of beer to get in the mood and left his apartment. Usually he thought the walk to the pub was a pain the ass but that day he didn't mind, the pack of cigarettes made time fly plus the anticipation of what to expect that night only lifted his spirits.

 

A familiar smell greeted him as he entered the pub – it was a mix of smoke and wood – and it felt like  _home._

He spotted some of the  _Gladers_ , Teresa turning heads with her skin-revealing dress and Aris chanting along to ACDC's Thunderstruck _,_ when his eyes finally fell upon the leader of his  _family –_ he saw Minho talking with some guy he'd never seen before.  _Probably a fling_ Thomas reckoned and, suddenly becoming aware of the lack of alcohol in his system, he decided to grab some gin at the bar.

 

Thomas got close to being utterly shit-faced as the night went on - there wasn't a moment he didn't have a full glass of liquids he didn't even remember the name of in his hands – and he spent his time flirting with both boys and girls.

 

As the brunette lit a cigarette, he felt a hand on his shoulders and turned around to see its owner.

It was Minho and, judging from the look on his face, he was even more wasted than himself.

 

“I want you to meet someone.” He pointed at his acquaintance, and Thomas realized it was the guy he saw Minho talking with earlier.

 

“Thomas: Newt. Newt: Thomas.”

 

He took a closer look at the blonde and although he didn't find him attractive at first, there was something about him that definitely caught his interest. He seemed way too distant and cold for someone about 17, which was very odd; Thomas was used to people being all flirty and easy prey (for him anyway) around this age. What was different about this guy?

 

A light chuckle yanked him out of his thoughts.

“I'm leaving you guys alone then”, Minho uttered before walking off.

 

They stood there, staring at each other until Newt finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Well if you want something, I've got everything you need”

 

Thomas only managed to blurt out a surprised “What”

He couldn't help but wonder  _did Minho just really get him a prostitute?_

 

“Are you deaf, I said I've got _everything_ so what do you want?”, Newt said, now in a more annoyed manner.

 

“So what would I want from you?”, the brunette asked dumbly, hoping to get more information.

 

Newt rolled his eyes at him and repeated “Whatever you need, I have it. And believe me, I only have the  _good_ stuff”

 

And Thomas  _finally_ understood – this dude didn't sell his own body for the pleasure of others; he was a  _drug dealer._ He couldn't hide his bafflement and, for no apparent reason whatsoever, the epiphany made him furious. It wasn't the fact that Newt's offer offended him – he took softer drugs like pot occasionally – but for some reason it pissed him off that such a young and (now that he looked closely) gorgeous boy was involved in such a dangerous business. 

Thomas knew some drug dealers himself and he had heard stories of violent customers scuffling with their dealers when they didn't have enough money to pay for their needs.

 

He felt his blood boiling.

 

“Is this how you pay for your drinks huh?”, Thomas yelled at him, “do your beloved parents know about the shit you're doing for a living?”

 

Newt made no move to defend himself, he only gaped at the brunette with wide eyes.

 

“Do they know about your nasty job? Or are they the reason you're doing this? Did they set you up, to finance their expensive lifestyle?”

 

“Why would you care?”, the blonde asked in a low voice.

 

This threw Thomas completely off the edge.

 

“I don't _care_ I just don't get how someone could be this _stupid_!”

Newt was trying to keep an indifferent expression but Thomas could see his eyes sparkling with tears.

 

“My parents are none of your bloody business, look if you don't want to buy anything leave me the fuck alone!”, Newt spat out.

 

With this said, the drug dealer turned on his heels and left the pub, leaving Thomas rooted to the spot.

 


	2. A chat

Thomas wasn't someone who _cared._

Not that he didn't have any feelings, of course he did – he wasn't a fucking psychopath – but he simply decided to _neglect_ them. And hell, wouldn't life be easier if people followed suit? Of course he felt flattered by every heart thrown at him, all those pretty faces that confessed their _undying love_ for him. Although it was so _pathetic_. Never would he understand the sheer stupidity of those who always fell for the bad guy.

 

And Thomas definitely didn't go after people.

_So why the hell did he feel the strong need to go after Newt? To comfort him?_

 

He shook his head violently. _What the hell had got into him?_

 

After convincing himself that the spliff he smoked made his mind mess with him, he continued with his previous occupation – drinking like a fish and making goggly eyes at sparely dressed women – but his mind always wandered off to the fair-haired boy. His appearance apparently did make an impression on Thomas, although he refused to admit it to himself.

 

Since he lost interest in those flirts pretty quickly, Thomas settled for leaving the pub without a company that night. Minho was nowhere to be seen anyway – he probably was engaged in getting physical with the girl he had seen him dancing with earlier.

Thomas went to bed without any detour, but he didn't sleep that night; he kept tossing and turning until he eventually gave up and smoked a cigarette (considering the night was long, he actually used the whole pack up). Blaming the lack of alcohol in his system – he had almost sobered up at that point – he knew deep down that the actual reason for his sleeplessness was the encounter with this inscrutable boy.

 

Thomas spent the next few days with Teresa and Aris – they made a motor-cycle tour through the whole town – and they went to a café the third day for their weekly meet-up with Minho. The café was small and unimposing, which is the reason why they chose it; they didn't want to attract any eavesdroppers while discussing their gang business.

 

After they checked the last bullet point on their list – potential new members – Thomas had ordered his 3rd coffee that morning. His sleep disturbance didn't ameliorate; the encounter with the blonde had taken a hold of his mind and it was especially severe during the night. He never valued his good sleep until now. He completely zoned out of the conversation until he realized Minho was addressing him.

 

“Aye Thomas, speaking of hotties.... What do you think of Newt?”

 

Before he could reply, Teresa said: “Yeah, I saw him storming off like he was about to kill someone. Did you say something inappropriate to him?

 

He had done a lot of thinking lately and he came to the conclusion that what he said was _definitely_ inappropriate. What possessed him to say something like that to someone he just met?

 

“Whatever it was, step gently. Newt is a complete nut job, 'bet he envisioned killing you in your sleep.”, Minho added.

 

“What do you mean nut job?”, Thomas asked in bewilderment. Sure, Newt _was_ different and his behaviour _was_ odd but it was nothing that would make him question the drug dealer's sanity.

 

“I don't know man, just tellin' ya what I've heard. Anyway, you comin' to the big fat party tomorrow?”

 

With this question the Asian dropped the subject of Newt and they kept on talking about other things, but Thomas couldn't absent his mind from the mystery that involved the fair-haired guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an incredibly short chapter but I had to split it into 2 or else it'd have been too long.
> 
> I'm sorry for the lack of Newtmas action here, the next one will be better I promise. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading!


	3. A dance

People often referred to Minho's parties as _event of the year_. Everyone who had made his or her name were guests at this huge feast; most befriended gangs and, of course, all Gladers were there. How Minho was capable of organizing this had always been a mystery no one could unravel, but it surely demonstrated his ability as leader of the Gladers.

 

The location for such an event was an abandoned warehouse; it was the only building that could withstand the huge mass of people, plus it was cheaper than anything else (although not quite so legal).

 

Practically everyone was either drunk or high (or both) and this didn't exclude Thomas. The brunette had found himself a comfy couch on which he sat with a girl on his lap. She was drooling over him and her hands were _everywhere,_ whereas his were neatly placed on her hips. It was so obvious where this would lead, and Thomas saw it as a welcomed opportunity to push his confusing feelings concerning Newt aside. Plus (actually a big fat plus) she was hot, and, judging from her behaviour, she thought the same of Thomas.

Thus when she whispered seductively in his ear:

”Maybe we should go somewhere _less noisy_ ”, he was sure this was a great idea.

She climbed clumsily off his lap _,_ took his hand in hers to help him up and they walked through a mass of dancing and sweating bodies hand in hand, with her taking the lead.

As they pushed themselves through the smoke-filled dance floor, Thomas caught a glimpse of a familiar blonde head. _Was he already imagining things?_

 

No, his mind wasn't deceiving him, it doubtlessly _was_ Newt.

 

Pushing his ego aside (which was only possible by being drugged up to the eyeballs because he had a _big_ ego) Thomas excused himself by telling the girl he had to take a piss and that she should wait outside.

He didn't even know why he wanted to talk to Newt, let alone _what_ he wanted to say but his gut told him to approach the blonde, so he pushed his way through the agitating mass.

Thomas was only a few feet away from Newt; the latter was facing a firm-built guy about his age and he didn't know what went into him, but he felt a sensation of something he couldn't quite identify yet because he never felt this way before - it was like a mix of anger and sadness.

Before Thomas could do something about this, he saw the shady figure sliding something – it looked like banknotes – into Newt's palms, and the blonde mirrored his actions – but instead of cash, the brunette spotted a plastic bag containing a powdery substance and then realization hit him.

 

This wasn't a flirt – it was a drug deal.

Thomas cursed himself internally for not connecting the dots earlier. He waited until the guy left Newt's side, the blonde being oblivious to Thomas approaching him since he was facing the opposite direction.

 

“Long time no see,  _ Newt _ ”, Thomas hissed into the drug dealer's ear. The latter spun around and for a second Thomas thought he'd kick him in his crotch like in some bad soap-opera, but Newt only showed a glimpse of surprise and  something Thomas couldn't decipher for a split second before his expression returned to his usual emotionless and apathetic one. 

Newt glared at Thomas intently – like he was an annoying puzzle he needed to solve – until he broke the eye-contact and rolled his eyes. As he took a step back to get away from Thomas, the brunette reached for Newt's arm and held onto it with a firm grip.

 

“Wait!”, Thomas muttered, which gained a dramatic sigh as a response.

 

“Let me go you prick! And leave me  _ alone  _ for fucks sake!”

 

Thomas only managed a muffled “no”, and with that Newt completely lost it.

 

“What the bloody hell is your problem huh?”, he screamed.

 

“ _ You  _ are my problem! This isn't right, you shouldn't be doing this shit! You......”

 

Thomas' voice cracked at the last word, and he finished his sentence with a much lower voice:

 

”You deserve  _ better. _ ”

 

Thomas watched Newt's reaction to his “confession” intently and many emotions were displayed on his face – it ranged from confusion to astonishment – but among all those one was most prominent; Thomas deciphered it as  _ incredulity.  _ Seeing this made his gut twist painfully – for some reason he  _ detested  _ seeing this look on the blonde's face, it made him want to wreak havoc on whoever was the cause of it. 

Newt only frowned at Thomas, who was busy with this internal struggle. The brunette opened his mouth to say something, but Newt took the words out of his mouth.

 

“Whatever you say. I'm leaving now.”

 

He released himself from Thomas' firm grip and strode away.

Frustration and impatience getting a hold of him, the gang member ran after Newt - disregarding a little voice in his head screaming MORON - and spun him around forcefully, while pushing him into the agitating mass of dancing bodies. He put his hands around the lean boy's waist, making sure there were no means of escape. He didn't look into Newt's face, instead he focused on closing the (now that he thought about it) disturbing gap between them and whispered into his ear, barely audible:

 

“Dance with me”

 

Newt, conveying the impression to having heard the request, only shrugged – he seemed to be fed up with the stop-go – and started moving his long legs in line with the deafening sound.

Thomas felt Newt's hips moving under his touch, and all he could think about was the fucking _friction._ He gazed at the blonde's body for the first time and noticed his lean muscles that flexed with every move he made. He became aware of Newt's fragility, he reminded him of a tender flower that could break with every touch - 

 

_ Did he just really compared Newt to a fucking flower? When did he start acting like he was in a cheesy romance for fucks sake? _

 

The sensation of Newt's arms around his neck disrupted his train of thoughts and his gaze flickered to the boy's face which was lined with en enquiring expression.

Thomas was distracted with the thought that Newt's hair appeared like a halo, framing his beautiful face. He was at a loss for words, until he finally stumbled across an adjective that described Newt _perfectly._

 

Newt was _captivating._

 

Thomas didn't notice that he uttered his thoughts aloud.

 

He thanked the gods above that the music was too loud for Newt to have caught this cheesy monologue and the latter shouting “Did you say something” only confirmed his assumptions.

As Thomas shook his head a bit too eagerly, Newt leaned in and giggled:

 

“You know, for being so _desperate_ to dance with me you're doing a great job at avoiding to dance yourself.”

 

Even though he said it in a jokingly manner, his face showed no sign of a smile. In fact, he hadn't seen him smile even once during their acquaintanceship. Thomas couldn't help but wonder _d_ _oes this guy ever smile?_

 

_ He was being ridiculous. _

 

Thomas started mirroring Newt's motions, though not as gracefully as the latter.

They danced for what must've been hours. Thomas completely lost track of time because his attention was solely focused on the fair-haired angel slightly grinding against him and each time skin brushed against skin, it sent an electricity through his body that left him craving for more.

 

 

As soon as sun rays were creeping in through the shabby windows of the building, the dance floor had pretty much cleared up. Newt got ready to leave when Thomas slid a crumpled piece of paper into the blonde's trouser pocket. He raised his eyebrows and the brunette just winked at him and urged: “Call me soon.”

 

With that said, their ways parted. Newt had got uncomfortable when Thomas offered to walk him home and shrugged it off with a simple “I can find my way home on my own”. 

 

Newt didn't call for a week.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff I guess??
> 
> I have the plot already planned out btw, I just don't know how many chapters it'll take. 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter and thank you so much for reading!


	4. A phone call

 

_What was happening to him?_

 

It'd been two weeks since Thomas had met the fair-haired boy and he already felt and acted so _different._

His dating policy had been simple and foolproof until then: he never put more effort into the relationship than his partner; but ever since Newt appeared in his life, abiding by the rules he framed to protect himself against _feelings_ ceased to be his priority.

 

And that got him into this mess.

 

The first few days Thomas didn't abandon his phone for even a second and got his hopes up whenever it sounded, only to be disappointed by an either drunk Aris or some ex he couldn't even recall the name of.

 

After 5 days, he dismissed any social interaction by not leaving his apartment at all.

His mind went crazy with scenarios concerning Newt's whereabouts; he was fucking _worried –_ Newt was a drug dealer after all and Thomas was aware that this wasn't the safest job on earth. What if someone got mad and hurt him? He could be injured, beaten up or worse, dying -

 

_Get a grip, moron!_

 

Not even once did it occur to him that Newt could just not be interested, this thought was so absurd for Thomas that it had never crossed his mind – he was _everybody's_ type. No, there had to be a _reasonable_ explanation for all this.

 

On the seventh day, just when Thomas had resigned to the fact that Newt wasn't going to call, a phone rang disrupted his sleeping schedule (actually he didn't have one, he was sleeping the whole day). He grunted and answered the call, still half asleep, without taking a look at the display name.

 

“If this isn't a matter of life and death I can assure you it will become one.”

 

“............Uh, Thomas?”

 

He recognized the voice immediately. He was startled and sort of glad to hear the voice he missed so dearly, there was no denying that, but he still had his pride.

 

“Oh, Newt, what a pleasant _surprise._ ”, Thomas said venomously, “and _what exactly_ took you a week to -”

 

“Meet me at the pub in half an hour.”

 

Thomas couldn't even frame an answer as Newt had already hung up. His mind still hadn't wrapped itself around the fact that _he was about to see him again_ , so he pushed his anger aside and got himself ready so quickly that it made him feel slightly dizzy.

 

Arriving at the agreed spot, the gang member spotted Newt from afar and noticed something he hadn't until now:

 

He never fully lifted his left foot off the ground; it was barely visible, but still there. _Newt had a limp._

* * *

 

Thomas was surprised Newt could keep up with his drinking since he drank a great deal of strong liquids. They spent their time in silence by force of circumstance – he couldn't even hear himself thinking through the raucous chanting along – but Thomas didn't mind the lack of conversation. He was way too busy admiring the angel at his side and noticing quirks (like the one when Newt caught him staring: he furrowed his brows as if working out if Thomas really was looking at _him_ ).

 

After some time, the pair had a remarkable amount of alcohol in their systems and made for the door. The freezing night air was relentless, smacking their alcohol-flushed faces like the lash of a whip.

 

“Walk with me Newt.”, Thomas slurred.

 

“Why?”

 

“I want to get to know you, dumb-ass.”

 

He uttered this with such a sincerity and certainty that even he himself was startled by that sudden outburst. If Theresa was with him right there, she would've sent him to the local nut-house herself – he didn't behave like himself when he was around Newt, unlike he did with his former flirts. Hell, with any other person he'd have got to second base at the latest at Minho's party, but Newt wasn't _anyone_. Not that he hadn't wanted the blonde's lips on his the other night – or on other places for that matter – he really didbut he felt the strong need to go _slow_ ; he had this inexplicable fear of Newt falling to bits under Thomas' touch.

Because he fucking _cared_ for that boy.

Even though they barely even crossed the stranger-frontier.

 

They walked around the neighbourhood until they ended up in a park. Sitting down on the grass, Thomas pulled out 2 cans of beer and handed one to Newt.

 

“So what you want to know eh?”, the latter enquired.

 

“ _Everything._ So how about we start with where you grew up?”

 

Thomas was able to tell he didn't expected this question by his reaction. He also sensed Newt's discomfort, therefore he continued:

 

“You don't have to - “

 

“No, _Tommy_ , it's okay. I won't even ask you if you know this place 'cause I bet you do – I grew up in the _Maze_.”

 

Thomas indeed did have heard of this place before; people called it like that because once you get in, you _never_ get out. Some former Gladers got involved with business there – _dangerous_ business – and he had never heard of them since. It was safe to say that this place was one of the most unsafe districts in the world; crimes were commonplace, as was murder. The Maze was like a beacon for the most wicked criminals around the world.

Thomas couldn't picture someone living there and this was the place Newt _grew up_ in.

It was self-evident that someone who had a background like this wouldn't end up in a completely legal occupation and Thomas finally understood.

 

_Either eat or be eaten._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about to get very angsty so be prepared. I can't wait to write the next chapter though, it's going to be like the calm before the storm :3
> 
> I can't thank you enough for reading and putting up with my writing!


	5. A smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I really loved writing this chapter.  
> Also rated M for mature themes.  
> I hope you guys like this chapter as much as I do!
> 
> BTW I'm going to write 1-2 more chapters on this story.

 

Their talk went on for hours.

 

It was refreshing meeting someone he could reveal everything to, without having to think about whether he appeared tough or not. He didn't have to pretend or impress; which he always had to when he was with anyone else. Especially the Gladers – which is why Thomas always had paid heed to keep Newt away from his _friends_ (and his nasty side).

 

As they headed for their homes, Thomas was surprised he didn't invite Newt to his flat. They didn't even share a kiss that night – the brunette felt like he would take advantage of the drug dealer's vulnerability. Besides, he still wanted their _relationship_ to go slow.

 

They practically spent all of their days together for weeks, Thomas barely left Newt's side – except for a few hours there and then, when Newt insisted he had to run some _errands_ . The blonde always responded sensitively to Thomas' asking about his plans like “none of your bloody business” or “would you give me some privacy eh”, but Thomas assumed there was nothing to it. He loved being with Newt, it somehow made him feel  _complete._

 

_When the hell had he got this sappy?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their relationship went on for 2 months, until one night they ended up at Thomas' apartment. They were slightly drunk but still sober enough to feel the tingling sensation when they fell into an intimate embrace. Everything felt _so_ right with Newt, they evened each other up with Thomas' need of protecting Newt and the latter being perfectly willed to let him.

 

As they slowly disconnected from each other, Thomas cupped his hands around the blonde's face and smiled at him affectionately, asking for consent. Newt nodded assuredly and Thomas leaned in, lips against lips.

 

The kiss was unsure and tentative, mouths moving too rapidly. Thomas dreaded having made the wrong move as Newt pulled away, breaking the kiss. He looked into Thomas' amber eyes carefully, as if searching for something specific in his features.

 

Before Thomas could open his mouth to say something, Newt seemed to have found what he had searched for when his interrogatory expression was replaced by a determined one, his lips crushing on Thomas'.

 

This time the kiss was more heated and _hungrier._ Newt's hands were drawing lines on Thomas' back, whereas the brunette had his hands carefully laid on the blonde's waist. He paid heed to caress him gently, afraid he would break under his touch.

 

But Newt was up to something else.

 

Newt's hands vacated the spot on Thomas' back - the latter almost gave out a _whimper_ – only to find their way to the brunette's chest, shoving him forcefully until he slammed with his back against a wall.

The drug dealer placed rough kisses on Thomas' neck, whose mouth escaped soft moans.

 

This was _definitely_ going to leave marks.

 

Thomas fingered at Newt's shirt and removed the bothersome piece of clothing, and he did the same with his own shirt. Newt groaned at the sudden disruption of his neck-biting, until he was able to proceed with even more space to suck onto.

 

The brunette threw his head back, hands buried in Newt's blonde mop, and simply enjoyed the sheer pleasure of lips drawing bruises onto Thomas' upper body like it was a canvas.

 

And suddenly his pants seemed to tighten.

 

The hotness of wet lips on his skin abruptly ceased and Thomas was left heated and confused. He moved his head forward searching for Newt's face and he was confronted with a pair of eyes, darkened by sheer lust. Seeming to have sensed the movement in Thomas' jeans, Newt shot up and – to Thomas' surprise – spun him around vigorously; now Newt's front was pressed against Thomas' back. He felt the blonde unbuckling Thomas' jeans and noticed one thing:

Newt had taken lead the whole time - he was so _dominating;_ Thomas barely had a saying in what was about to happen; there was nothing else for it but to stay submissive.

 

_Not that he complained anyway._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Newt had always managed to surprise Thomas; but nothing he had ever done surprised him as much as when they were in bed for the first time.

 

The gang member had always seen Newt as fragile and tentative; but he was the complete opposite when it came to sex.

He was authoritative and rough, leaving bruises and hickies _everywhere_ , although his movements were slow and never too hasty; in fact, they were smooth and expressive – like the motions of a dancer. Newt knew _exactly_ where to put his mouth or how to move properly to make Thomas beg for mercy – and he was such a fucking _tease_.

 

Somehow they accomplished to get themselves into bed – and there they lay, panting heavily and facing each other. Thomas was caressing Newt gently, smiling like an idiot.

 

“We could stay here in bed forever you know....Just you and me, Newt.”, Thomas suggested, which gained a light chuckle from the fair-haired boy.

 

“This sounds very promising, I must admit, but we both know I have a job to do.”

 

“Then quit your job. I'm sure Minho can get you a legal and, more importantly, safer business. Besides, the worrying when you're out selling drives me insane.”

 

“No, Tommy I ca-”

 

“Why the fuck not Newt huh? It's a crap job anyway, why would you cling to it?”, Thomas interjected.

Newt spoke with more authority: ”You don't get it alright so drop it.”

 

“But I _want_ to get it. Explain it to me please.”

 

“FOR FUCKS SAKE THOMAS I NEED THE MONEY!”

 

“For what?”, Thomas whispered, barely audible.

 

“What do you bloody think huh? Do I really need to utter it aloud?”

 

When there came no response from Thomas, Newt continued:

 

“I need it......to......to......satisfy my own needs for heavens sake!”

 

“What _needs_ do you mean Newt?”, Thomas asked carefully,

 

“I mean the bloody _Flare_ you bastard!”

 

Thomas was shocked by the declaration. The Flare was a modern drug known for its destructive nature – losing control over one's own mind and vastly addictive – 95% of Flare-addicts died within 2 years of abuse.

It was similar to heroin: injected, but its effects were even more fatal – those who survived suffered terribly and had to be contained, since they connoted a hazard to the public due to outbursts of violence.

 

This meant Newt – _his_ Newt – would end up either way: dead or insane.

And Thomas couldn't endorse this.

 

“Newt, we can do something against this you know... There are clinics in Europe that are specialized in the treatment of -”

 

“No, Tommy. No way I'll be going to Europe – we can't afford it anyway.”

 

“We can. We will find a way.”

 

“They won't help me, we'd be throwing money down the drain.”

  
“They're professionals, New -”

 

“FOR FUCKS SAKE STOP ARGUING WITH ME!”, Newt interjected enraged and added with a calmer voice:

 

“I won't go through this again, got it? The last time I tried to get clean is when I got this bloody limp here. I couldn't cope with the withdrawal symptoms, Tommy. I tried to bloody kill myself. Jumped right off the facility's roof.”

 

Thomas was now standing in front of the bed where the blonde lay – only covered in sheets – gazing at him with a stern look.

 

“I'm not going to watch you die, Newt. You're _mine_ now and I won't let you go. Capiche?”

 

Newt was smiling. _Genuinely_ smiling. Not one of those fake, wintry smiles.

Newt was beaming and Thomas felt the need to avert his eyes from this striking sight, because something so _beautiful_ did not belong in this gruesome and cruel world.

 

It was a sight to behold, seared into his brain eternally. An always accessible memory.

 

And it was meant for _his_ eyes only.

 

 


	6. The letter

1 year.

 

One fucking year since they'd met and Thomas was completely and utterly at a loss.

He couldn't save Newt, that was obvious, even though he wanted to. And he tried to. But that was the thing with mental illnesses and addictions. This “love can heal all wounds” bullshit was a total lie - if Newt himself wasn't willing to save himself, no one could. Thomas was at an impasse and he felt hopeless.

But still he tried.

 

This relationship had its up and downs of course, every one had, but it definitely wasn't a _healthy_ one. Thomas gave his best to give Newt everything he wanted – everything he _deserved_ , but this wouldn't cure him. And it fucking broke him. He couldn't exactly force him to get clean, especially when Newt was so reluctant ( _This is the way it's destined to be Tommy. Someone like me doesn't deserve help, doesn't deserve saving) –_ How was he supposed to help someone who'd already given up on himself?

 

Thomas' life had been easy before, not having a care in the world and not giving a fuck about anyone. He missed the life he had before Newt, there was no denying it, but what they had was something he wouldn't trade with anything else in the world; of course it didn't make any sense - but love had always been irrational and illogical. The time with Newt was the happiest time of his life. It had showed him that life wasn't all about alcohol and mindless sex – it was so much more than that. And yes, Thomas finally admitted it to himself: _He was in love with Newt_ Even if it meant Thomas' downfall.

 

Newt continued to sell and do drugs, but he did his best to spare Thomas the sight of giving himself an injection – though he could always tell from the fresh, reddened puncture marks on the crook of Newt's arm.

 

Thomas noticed that the substance abuse had got worse – Newt's health worsened drastically – and its effects were now visible on the delicate body: He had lost a lot of weight, he didn't even look like he could stand on his own feet. The mind-altering effects were awful – sometimes Newt came home (he had moved in his flat), screaming at Thomas and sometimes he didn't even _remember_ him, but most of the time he just passed out on the couch. Newt was slowly but surely losing his mind, and Thomas still refused to leave him – unlike Newt, he never stopped waiting for a miracle to happen. _He was so naïve._

 

Thomas could always rely on one thing though: Newt _always_ came home, no matter in what state he was in.

 

 

Until that day.

 

* * *

 

 

Thomas fumbled with his keys as he tried to open the door to his apartment. _Our apartment,_ he corrected himself. He was exhausted from work – he got himself a job in order to keep the option of sending Newt to a facility open - and couldn't wait to slip into his warm and comfy bed.

 

Once inside, he could sense something was wrong.

 

Newt wasn't there.

 

 _Calm down Thomas, he's probably out doing... oh, not fucking helping,_ he thought to himself.

He called out his name, but, of course, there was no response. He searched the whole flat and noticed one thing:

 

All of Newt's possessions were gone.

 

 _Now_ he started to panic.

 

He searched all the drawers to check if his clothes were still there, but it was in vain. Newt had no phone, so calling wasn't a possibility. Where did he go? Why did he take everything with him? What was he doing? Was he okay?

Thomas' mind was spinning with questions whose answers were out of reach, so he decided to actually _do_ something.

He picked up his phone – _when did his hands start to tremble?_ \- and managed to dial a number.

 

“Yo Tho-”

 

“Minho, something is wrong. I need you to organize a search party. Please. N-Newt is gone.”

 

After a pause, Minho answered: “Give me an hour. And fucking stay where you are!”

 

Minho was even faster than he promised – it only took him 25 minutes to call the Gladers together. They were harsh sometimes, but when another Glader needed help, they were always at his beck and call. And Thomas had never been more thankful for these bunch of idiots than right now.

 

 

* * *

 

Newt was nowhere in sight. They had searched the whole town, even the smallest corners. Thomas' worry amplified with each passing hour, and he didn't think he could stand it any longer, but eventually he had to give up. He decided to continue his search the following day, even if it meant he'd have to do it alone.

 

As he entered the flat, he found an envelope on the floor with the label _Tommy_ on it.

He ripped the paper up – and found a letter in it.

 

 

> I'm sorry for what I put you through.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It's better this way, trust me.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for giving me the best time of my life.
> 
>  
> 
> Goodbye.

 

 

Thomas had fallen onto the couch, with the letter in one hand and booze in the other. Staring into space, his mind went blank and he poured the whole bottle of liquid in his body – hoping it would fill the hole in his heart.

 

* * *

 

The next 3 weeks were a hazy daze. Thomas worked his ass off, hoping to distract his mind from Newt's disappearance – he barely slept or ate and he looked and felt like _shit._

The other night, Minho managed to convince Thomas to go out for once (mainly because he threatened to cut his balls off if he kept whining like a baby – insensitive, but effective), he couldn't grieve forever – his life continued even if he liked it or not and against all expectations, Thomas actually enjoyed himself. The Gladers did a great job at distracting the brunette and the alcohol also lifted his mood.

 

As he staggered across the room, his destination being the loo, he passed some rooms in the back (only god knows what they were for) and he caught a glimpse of a familiar blonde head – _Newt?_

 

He barely recognized him. He was as pale as death and only skin and bones - it seemed like life had been sucked out of him.

 

“Newt, what the fuck!”, Thomas called out across the room, approaching the person that left him devastated for weeks.

 

The blonde turned around and he _didn't even look surprised._

 

“Hey, Tommy.”, Newt said in a calm voice.

 

Thomas didn't know if it was the alcohol, his suppressed grief or the fact that he _fucking acted like nothing ever happened_ but he only saw red.

 

“ _Hey Tommy?? HEY TOMMY?_ That's all you say after what you did to me huh? WHAT IS FUCKING WRONG WITH YOU?”, Thomas spat out.

 

“Calm do-”

 

“NO I WON'T CALM DOWN NEWT!”

 

“OKAY OKAY, CAN WE AT LEAST TALK _PRIVATELY_ FOR HEAVENS SAKE”

 

It was then that Thomas got aware of his surroundings – the whole pub was staring at the pair, even the music was turned down. Even though he wanted to rip Newt's throat out at this very moment, he had a point – he didn't need any witnesses.

 

Newt called a cab, heading for Thomas' apartment. The ride was filled with oppressive silence, the tension so thick he could cut it with a knife.

 

But once the door closed, all hell broke loose.

 

“I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU LET ME WORRY TO DEATH FOR 3 FUCKING WEEKS. YOU LEFT ME WITHOUT A WARNING AND NOW YOU ACT LIKE ALL'S FINE AND DANDY!”

 

“Tommy it was for the best.”

 

“DON'T FUCKING PULL THAT “I ONLY DID IT FOR YOU” BULLSHIT ON ME; I PUT UP WITH YOUR INSANITY AND THAT'S HOW YOU THANK ME? I SHOULD HAVE TAKEN MINHO'S WORD WHEN HE TOLD ME TO KEEP AWAY FROM YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE A FUCKING NUT-JOB !”

 

“Fuck you!”, Newt contested, eyes filling with salty tears. Before Thomas could make a move, he rushed into the bathroom and locked up the door.

“I hate you Tommy. The sight of you makes me sick.”, Newt muttered.

 

Hearing this shattered Thomas' heart into million pieces. He was filled with sadness, but he let out his rage instead. He screamed and cursed until his throat was sore, and when his voice left him, which took hours of ear-piercing yelling, silence filled the room.

 

 

Thomas cried for the first time in his life, he even fucking _whimpered,_ he also heard some muffled sobs through the bathroom door. Until the noise abruptly ceased and got replaced by a loud thump.

_What the hell?_

 

“.....Newt?”

 

 

No answer.

Thomas repeated his name over and over again but still – nothing.

He pounded the door various times, each time more violently and after some time he managed to knock the door in.

 

 

The sight before him was dreadful:

 

 

Newt was lying on the bathroom floor, drenched in his own vomit.

He didn't move at all, showed no vital signs, which made Thomas fear the worst.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrived at the hospital, he was separated from Newt.

 

 _Oh my god please be alright please I beg you don't fucking do this to me_ , were Thomas' thoughts when he was waiting for the doctor's results.

 

He had put his head in his hands when the doctor approached him.

 

“You must be Thomas right? And you're Newt's.....boyfriend?

 

“Yes. Is he okay? What happened? Oh god please tell me he will be alright...”

 

“I'm afraid, Newt suffered from a myocardial infarction -”

 

“SPEAK ENGLISH WITH ME YOU PRETENTIOUS LITTLE -”

 

“Thomas. Newt had a heart attack. He died before the ambulance arrived. All attempts at resuscitation were in vain. There was nothing we could've done to save him. I'm sorry.”

 

Thomas felt the rug being pulled out from under his feet. He was gone. Forever.

 

 _If I hadn't fought with him he'd be alive right now. He wouldn't have had a fucking heart attack_ , Thomas was burdened with guilt and drowning in self-accusations.

 

Newt was dead.

 

 

_And it is my fault._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so sorry, I didn't mean to rush this chapter but I cried so hard while writing this, I just wanted to get it over with.
> 
> I'm a horrible, horrible person and this has to be the worst ending ever, please don't kill me.
> 
> I hate myself for writing this, but I wanted it to be realistic, especially with the drug addiction aspect.
> 
> You can tell me how much you hate me in the comments if you want to.
> 
> But still, thank you soso much for keeping up with this story, and I'm so sorry for the disappointing ending.
> 
> Luh ya guys x
> 
> BTW: The fic was inspired by an amazing song called Built for sin by Framing Hanley. Listen to it, the lyrics really fit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for any mistakes/wrongly used expressions, for English is (unfortunately) not my native language!
> 
> If you want to give me some writing advice feel free to do so on https://twitter.com/shuckitommy


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